


Unexpected Forfeit

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Demonstuck [49]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: (kinda), Demonstuck, Gen, Genderbend, I regret putting so many characters in this now that i have to tag them all, Magic Bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 05:29:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19125547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: D beats a certain Life witch a few too many times in online Mariokart. Unprompted magical shenanigans ensue.





	Unexpected Forfeit

IC: fuckin BEACH  
IC: two outta three, strider?

TG: for fucks sake  
TG: what the hell do you mean two out of three? right now the scores at what? five to zero 

IC: fucksake yourself  
IC: u shore youre finna tap out early? gotta take a forfeit

TG: oh my god piexes you cant just add that shit when you lose at a game you picked out and coerced me into   
TG: plus like what did you expect was gonna happen  
TG: i got what  
TG: six kids? no wait at least seven  
TG: who all wanna play these dumbass online racing games like constantly

IC: ohhh my cod   
IC: unfair advantage right there

TG: what the hell are you talking about 

IC: like i said  
IC: u owe me a forfeit  
IC: fOARfeit

TG: what that doesnt even work

IC: just fOAR that imma stretch the spell out for another day or whatever 

TG: wait what spell

Unfortunately, she doesn't answer. Your last conscious thought before magenta light lashes out from the laptop is that you should have _known_ that letting Trizza talk you into a couple rounds of online ripoff Mariokart with Condy wouldn't end well. 

Too bad you're an idiot.

* * *

You do wake up, though. That's the good news. 

The bad news comes in two parts. Part one is that you're on the floor (kind of a given; if you'd been on the couch at least you'd have had a chance to stay somewhat upright but the desk chair just ain't gonna do it); part two is...well, it's Grey. 

Now, normally that'd be good news, because he always is, but you've got a sneaking suspicion that anything that requires him to be in his not-human form is probably bad, even if he's just crouching next to you, watching with faceted red eyes. It's probably bad enough that you should figure out the current weapon situation, but then again you just got hit with some kind of weird distance magic and you're kinda dizzy and he's _pretty_ , goddamnit, you're weak for him in any form and just lying there for another minute seems like a good idea. Yeah. Just lay here and watch your beloved's eyes, how's that for a plan? You can just—

"He's stuck," a familiar but weirdly _off_ voice chirps. Okay, so if Seb's here maybe shit ain't actually fucked...or maybe it is, you decide as the kid peeks around one red-marked wing. 

Now, when Hal made Sebastian a body, he and the kid discussed what it would look like. Talked it over, made models, shit like that. Seb's choice was to make himself one of those small children who are almost androgynous, enough that some people who don't know him get it wrong at the first try, guess that he's a little girl. 

However, right now it's _you_ that wants to get it wrong, because to you he looks more like a girl than most actual little girls you know. And not like Jade's been giving him a makeover, just...fuck. "...uh, I think I got another concussion."

Grey rumbles deep in his chest—that's a fucking _laugh_ , you know him well enough to tell about that shit—and reaches down to gather you up to his chest. As you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, your shirt pulls tight in a couple spots that _definitely_ ain't right. 

"Hey, what the _fuck_ —" You squirm away from him, back onto the floor—on your knees, this time, might as well get at least kinda vertical instead of certifiably horizontal—and grab at your own chest. 

Oh, those are new. Those are definitely new...

Seb, who's apparently already come to terms with what Condy's revenge magic shit's done to (possibly) everyone in the house, giggles. Oh yeah, maybe you should go do the physical assessment shit somewhere else. Like, now. 

Or you could ask some fucking questions to figure out how much of a disaster this is. Yeah, you should do that. 

"Damn it, okay." You breathe in, get distracted by how that looks different in your peripheral vision, breathe out and cross your arms over your chest to minimize future distractions. Which doesn't work. Hey, how the fuck do people with boobs work around them, exactly? "Uh...how long was I out for?" 

Grey holds up three fingers. Then he shrugs (again, you get lost for a moment, this time in how the motion carries through to his wings, makes the patterns shift as they half-spread) and adds two more. 

"Couple minutes, okay. Can you maybe go human again, or..." 

That just gets you another soft rumble. Seb translates. 

"He's stuck." 

"...stuck." Dear lord what did you get everyone into this time. "Why the hell would—actually, no, I don't give a shit. How's everybody else?" 

This time Seb shrugs, bouncing to his (her? eh, fuck physical changes, you're gonna stick with the known pronouns until he gives you reason to use anything else) feet and offering you a hand up that, if you tried to actually accept it, would almost certainly end with him on the floor next to you instead of accomplishing anything. Kid's growing, but he's still pretty damn tiny. "C'mon and see!"

Tempting. But... "You go round everyone up; I'll be there in a couple minutes. Grey, _you_ get to come help me figure out how far this shit goes."

* * *

Well. It goes all the way down, apparently. Grey doesn't really help, either; he just settles on the bed and watches as you strip down, take stock of your current physical reality, and then change into one of _his_ shirts. It comes down far enough that you could probably get away with not putting on pants, but yeah no you're gonna at least make an attempt to look like you're in control of the situation. A shirt that doesn't fit like a dress would probably help with that, but this way you're not gonna get distracted every time you glance down. 

(How the hell can anyone function with boobs.) 

Grey laughs through all of this, of course. The low rumbling is nice, kind of, because that shit relaxes you better than a lapful of kittens, but on the other hand? "Would you stop? 's not funny." 

More rumbling, and his antennae perk up as you step within arm's reach. You probably _could_ back up in time to avoid his attempt to take advantage of that, but why would you? It's a hell of a lot more soothing to just let yourself be pulled in, to settle on Grey's lap and lean against his chest, reach up to stroke through those oh-so-tiny feathers that make him look so goddamn furry. 

Soft. Soothing. "Why the fuck did her spell hit you like this?" 

Shrug. Not like he doesn't know—you are one hundred percent sure that he does—but like that's a lil' complicated to explain without, y'know, talking. That's fair. 

"Do I make a hot girlfriend?" 

If Grey could roll his eyes in this form, you're damn sure he would be. What he does instead is to blink and give his head a tiny shake, feathery antennae flicking forward for a second before pressing flat against his head as he leans down to nuzzle you. 

It counts as a kiss. Might not look like one, doesn't totally _feel_ like one—hell, it doesn't feel like anything else you've ever experienced, it feels like feathers and warmth and the taste of cinnamon surrounding you, filling your lungs with every breath you take—but it still is. God, you love moth kisses. 

"Okay, that was a stupid question. I'm _always_ hot." Grey holds still long enough for you to twist and lean up, kiss the feathery space between his eyes. "Guess we'd better go do some damage control on the kids, huh?" 

Despite the fact that his face is totally alien right now, there's only one thing the look Grey gives you could mean.

_What do you mean "we?"_

* * *

Seb's done his job well; everyone's been gathered in the main room. Or maybe they just kind of gravitated there, like they tend to do when weird shit goes down; any crisis takes the first steps towards being resolved here, and this ain't gonna be any different. 

Karkat's on the couch, unchanged as far as you can tell. Well, no, that's not true—you can see his halo, a loop of eldritch void above his head. It moves with him, as he looks up to glare at you for a second before focusing on his current task, which seems to be rubbing gentle circles into Dave's back. You can't see Dave's face—he's stretched out face-down, draped over his boyfriend's lap and taking up the entire couch—but the spell hit him. His effects seem to include a godawful mullet, but from the way he's holding himself you'd bet your fucking life that he's got roughly the same physical changes you ended up with. Not sure whether that's what's got him so obviously disgruntled, or if that's more about all the reflected distress he's getting from everyone else. 

Dirk's sitting on the floor, glaring blankly at Hal and completely ignoring his own partners as they snipe at each other over who's hogging the blanket. (It's John. Of _course_ he's the one hogging the blanket.) Roxy's somehow included in this group, for reasons you're not really sure of; she looks exactly the same as she did before. Since she's been trying out binders and picking through everyone else's clothes to make up daily outfits, you're not all that surprised. You kind of wish she didn't have that sharpie so close to Dirk's face, though. 

The kids—Davesprite, Davepeta, Jr, Liv, and of course Seb—are currently engaged in a quest to use Hal as their own personal jungle gym. Liv and Seb have swapped shirts. Jr, Hal, and Davepeta don't seem to be experiencing any effects whatsoever. Davesprite's so fluffed up you can't tell what they've got going under there. 

All in all, this is a lot less chaotic than you expected. You should probably just take this opportunity to back up and

"Follow through on what you're thinking and I'll fuckin' kill you." Dave raises his head to shoot you an absolutely _poisonous_ look. You don't think you deserve that. "Quick question, D—what the fuck!" 

He doesn't say that like a question. You consider pointing that out, decide that discretion is the better part of wisdom, and shrug instead. (Grey is too close behind you to let you retreat, or you'd be doing _that_ instead.) "Uh, I won too many games of Mariokart against Condy?" 

Everyone groans. Jake throws the pillow he's been clutching to his chest at you—okay, that shirt doesn't work on someone with tits, it was just fine when there wasn't anything to see but now? Cutting off the sleeves to turn it into a tank top seems a lil' more like a mistake, with how much of a view that gives you—and immediately turns bright red, yanking the blanket he's sharing with John and Dirk up further. 

Roxy does him one better, dropping her sharpie and digging in her pocket to come up with a (closed) pocketknife to hurl at you. Unlike Jake, she has some skill with thrown weapons; it hits you in the chest. That hurts much more than you expect. "Hey! You didn't even get hit by this shit—" 

"No, they did." There is a good deal more dry amusement in Hal's voice than the situation warrants. Maybe that stems from the fact that Davepeta's decided to drape themself over his shoulders and slowly open and close their wings like they're presenting him as a trophy, though. "It just made today's presentation slightly easier to accomplish." 

"Same with me!" Davepeta chirps—really, they _chirp._ It's a satisfied, joyful tone, and if you weren't completely fucking exasperated by this situation it'd be infectious. Hell, it is anyway, at least a little. "Like, can we bottle this shit and I just take a nice big swig every time my body decides to be a fuckin' idiot? Or at least make it purrmanent for Gale?" 

"Gale?" Shit, you forgot about Gale. The fact that you only now notice them perched on the arm of the couch suggests that they wanted you to, though, so you guess you can't really beat yourself up over it. "Oh, fuck. Hey, kid." 

"Uh, hey." They give you a nervous smile. It's still a _genuine_ smile, though, more so than you usually get from them. "So...this is because you, um...lost a bet?" 

"Something like that. You good?" 

Gale runs one hand through their hair, utterly failing to smooth the red curls down at all, and nods. "...Davepeta's, uh. Right, about what I think." 

"Excuse you, I'm _always_ right." 

"No you're not." You're legally obligated to point that out. 

"Yeah, you're...wrong a lot, sorry, but I, um. I like _this_ —" Gale gestures at themself. As far as you can tell, nothing's changed under their faded grey hoodie and camo cargo pants, but from the look on their face you know you gotta be mistaken— "a, a lot more than. Before. Normal." 

Huh. Well, you'll be opening negotiations with Condy for some more permanent changes later. Better give her some time to cool down over her losses first. "So yeah, you're good." 

"I'm good." 

"Awesome. Everybody else?"

Grey rumbles out another laugh and steps in front of you, wings spreading to shield you from the barrage of pillows and small projectiles that your kids direct at you in response to that stupid-ass question. From the squawk and giggles you catch beyond the barrier of hot boyfriend, even the little ones got in on that volley, despite the fact that none of them seem even mildly inconvenienced. 

"Okay, okay, none of y'all're 'good', I got it." Grey lets you push one of his wings aside, step through to survey the room. "Anybody need, like, psychiatric help right this sec?" John picks up Dirk's hand, lacing their fingers together so he can pull it up. Dirk rolls his eyes and jerks it down again. "Yeah, Dirk still needs more therapy, that's been noted. _Other_ than that?" 

"I need scissors," Dave mumbles into the couch cushion. 

"You need an ibuprofen," Karkat corrects him. 

"Yeah, I'm gonna go with Karkat here—this is _Condy_ we're talking about, she tends to have shit revert in the most humiliating way possible. Jake, Dave, do _not_ give yourselves a haircut; if you do that you're probably gonna end up with a worse one when this shit wears off." Hmm, what else. "Dirk, I'm pretty sure you're already thinkin' about where to pick up a binder—" 

"You know me so well." 

"Of _course_ I do, you're my kid. Don't fall asleep in it, is all." You rub your forehead with one hand, like that's gonna magically make you more qualified to deal with this. "Rox, any chance you can—" 

"See how far this shit spread?" 

"I was gonna say lend Dirk your binder, since you don't got anything for it to work on right now, but you're ahead of me." Grey's behind you; you lean back and find him there, right before you would have lost your balance. "I wanna go to sleep. Can I go to sleep? Can I go to sleep until I don't have tits anymore?" 

That gets a laugh, from all of them. You cannot _believe_ that all it takes to get your grown-ass kids to laugh at you is the word "tits." Really shows who raised them, honestly. 

Eh, at least that's something you can take as your cue to twist around and wrap your arms around Grey's broad shoulders, hook your legs up and settle yourself on him like he's a particularly broad and fuzzy tree. It's not a position you could hold on your own for more than a minute or two, but that's way more than you need; instantly he's got his arms around you, _all_ his arms, head dipping to hum unintelligible endearments in your ear as he carries you back to the bedroom, away from this clusterfuck, and back to the bed, where you fully intend to snuggle up into his arms and sleep until everything is back to as normal as you will ever hope to get it.


End file.
